


Cullris Bagel Fic

by Starla-Nell (Princess_Nell)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst covered by a heavy layer of fluffy fluff, Bagels, Fenris swears like once, Fluff, Fluffy Bagels, M/M, No Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-22 21:49:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7455160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princess_Nell/pseuds/Starla-Nell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris walks into Cullen's favorite bagel shop and ... orders a bagel! </p><p>Fenris has chronic pain, and Cullen is a skilled massage therapist. </p><p>Cullen is an ex-narc fighting addiction, and Fenris is a skilled addiction counselor. </p><p>A love of fresh bagels brings them together. Will a sense of professionalism be enough to keep them apart?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bagel Shop

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, I try to whip up the fluffiest fluff, and it still comes out with a bottom crust of angst. I want to make these two happy. Unfortunately, it's the pain that makes this ship work.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They meet, exchange business cards. Like the label says, fluff.

Cullen came early every morning. Every morning, he flirted around the bagelistas. Then he sat at his favorite table (to one side, not against the wall) and watched people while pretending to read and savoring fresh bagel smell, fluffy texture, and hearty flavor. The routine comforted Cullen, structure in the chaos.

Then _he_ walked in. Cullen had no idea who he was, but his every fiber screamed. No particular message, just pain. Cullen wanted to grab shoulders, sit him down, and erase the pain. Except then he’d get punched. As Cullen smiled, the man’s shoulders rolled.

Cullen’s brain cataloged symptoms as the young man waited in line. His hunched, strained posture tilted bleached hair over his eyes. He held arms wrapped in white tattoos at an odd angle. His spikes and black clothes repelled fellow pedestrians. Did accidental contact hurt? As he placed his order, the man shifted, ready to spring. Moving helped. His expression was neutral, despite other messages of agony. He kept the pain from his face: chronic condition. Which one? Cullen would never know, never get the chance to help.

“Uhrgh.” Cullen’s hand skimmed short-cropped curls, looking anywhere else. When he noticed all tables were taken, he froze. His gaze dropped into his book.

\---

Fenris looked around, bagel in hand. Maker, his muscles needed to chill out. There were empty seats at occupied tables. Including the one across from _him_. Wire-tight control, trained expression, slight shake to the hand as he turned a page. In an empty shop, there would be no way to approach this person. Now? Well … after all, Fenris wanted to sit.

“This seat taken?” Fenris gestured across from the blond.

He smiled. “No, go right ahead.” Fenris sat, and the slightly older man – two years? Three? – tagged and closed his book. Fenris chuckled.

“I’m sorry?”

“My apologies. My friend folds page corners as markers.”

“Barbarian!” Mock-shocked, Fenris decided.

“Don’t say that where he can hear you.” His smile twitched, and he tilted his head to shake white hair from his view.

“My turn to apologize.”

“No need,” Fenris glanced around, leaned closer. “We’re in full agreement.”

The blond chuckled. “Cullen Rutherford.” Fenris winced, anticipating a hand shake, but Cullen fumbled in his pocket, retrieved a card holder, and handed Fenris a card. The logo was a hand with green light emanating from the palm. “Haven Massage Therapy and Spa,” it read. Fenris’ eyebrows rose.

“Fenris Seheron.” He handed over his own card, eyebrows quirking. Cullen’s brow creased until he read it. “Addiction counseling.” His chuckle now covered discomfort.

“Maybe we should trade services.”

Fenris laughed low. “That would be … unwise.” Want a reliable path to trouble? Mix physical and emotional professional services.

“You’re right. Damn. I know I could help you. I specialize in chronic conditions.” Frustration strained Cullen’s voice.

“Well, you shouldn’t become my client, but I could become yours.”

Cullen nodded slowly, smiling. “Sounds good.” Fenris’ heart flopped. Oh, shit. “Speaking of clients, I’ve got my first one coming up.” Cullen was looking at his phone. “Call, we’ll set up an appointment. You won’t regret it!”

Cullen left before Fenris could say, “I already do.”


	2. On the Table

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris makes an appointment at Haven Massage and Spa. Cullen is reeeeally good at what he does.

Finally, Cullen had Fenris on his table. Weeks thinking he’d only been polite in that bagel shop, appointment secured for weeks after the call. Cullen’s schedule filled fast.

Cullen splorted a blob of massage cream onto his deltoid tuberosity, below the edge of his grey sleeveless shirt, on the side with the glowing-hand logo. He contemplated Fenris’ back. The man had flawless skin, broken only by the tattoos that covered his back and arms, curling up his neck to bracket his chin. His face was in the cradle, and a sheet covered his lower half.

“Based on our conversation, I’m going to start on your back, shoulders first.” Cullen discussed known problems with the client before each appointment. With Fenris’ condition, unexpected touch would feel like a knife, as would either gentle or deep pressure. Cullen grabbed a dab of cream off his arm and pressed in, using muscle reactions as his gage.

“Mrf.” Fenris suppressed an appreciative groan. Cullen smiled. Why is it not considered manly to express enjoyment of touch from a man? It was a little surprising Fenris had called at all. Most of his clients were female.

Conversation could help establish rapport. “These tattoos must have taken a while –” Cullen lifted his hands and the pressure. “What did I hit?” Fenris had flinched hard.

Now he forcibly relaxed. “An emotionally nerve, not a physical one. I’d rather not talk about my tattoos. Why don’t we talk about when you served?”

Cullen struggled for breath. It was fortunate he wasn’t touching the client. How in the void had he known? Not a lot of ex-police-officers become massage therapists. No, it was easy to tell. He kept his hair short, kept in shape. His bearing and posture gave him away, too.

He tried a chuckle and returned to his work. “Is it obvious?

“Mmm.” The counselor’s noise could mean anything.

“I served ten years on the force. I made commander of the narcotics unit after only eight. Unfortunately, I went deep undercover early in my career, and if I continue this story, we might trade services after all.”

Fenris’ quiet laughter relaxed his muscles further. “Lovely weather we’re having, isn’t it?”

Cullen laughed softly as well, noting a trouble spot to return to after he’d allowed it to rest. He slid the heels of his hands over the smooth skin, still curious about the patterns but not wanting to pry and undo his good work. “I actually love this weather, reminds me of home.” Most in Kirkwall hated dreary days: a slip of chill under thick grey sky. “These were the best work days, cool and comfortable.”

Cullen’s voice relaxed Fenris, so Cullen continued describing his family’s farm, his sisters and brother, meals every night with his parents. While he talked, he worked up Fenris’ neck and scalp, down each arm. Then he draped the sheet over the man’s jellied back and worked on each leg, uncovered in turn. As he released spasming muscles under more white tattoos, Cullen realized the marks must cover Fenris’ entire body. They avoided the sensitive backs of his knees, but not his spine, shins, or other bones. Cullen had assumed he’d been marked before symptoms manifested, but why had Fenris flinched from the inquiry? Why get tattoos covering his entire body if he’s in chronic pain?

Not his business. As he worked, he continued his banter about nothing of importance.

\---

Fenris listened as he flipped, covered by the sheet. Listening was an asset on the job, but now he couldn’t turn off his therapist brain. Although Cullen’s stories involved a happy and healthy family, they were all from before age nine. Something life-changing happened then. Fenris didn’t know what, but his trained ear wasn’t fooled.

He practiced ignoring the signs. Listen to the handsome man ramble, Fenris. Relax into those confident, beautiful hands. Let him take away your pain for a little while. Because for once, Fenris felt relief. The pain was now a hum through his senses rather than a screeching metal bash. Fenris sighed into a particularly good stroke, forgetting his attraction and the need to hide it. Cullen rewarded him with a repeat of the motion: enough to be good, not enough to overwork his nerves and cause pain again. “I’ll come back to that,” Cullen promised before moving on. Yes, please.

**Author's Note:**

> Damn professionalism, getting in the way of a perfectly good premise. Can I convince them it's worth it? Preferably without ruining both their lives?


End file.
